Once upon a time on a green, green island
by Daenar
Summary: Mac has a very strange dream... but is she really dreaming? Romantic (H/M) fun stuff, utterly out of genre!
1. Chapter One

'ONCE UPON A TIME ON A GREEN, GREEN ISLAND'  
  
Author: Daenar (daenarchurill@hotmail.com)  
  
Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount; 'Lord of the Dance' is property of Michael Flatley and his company, no copyright infringement intended.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: Romance (H/M), Adventure  
  
Spoiler: Mac has very strange dream - but is she really dreaming? Just a little fairy-tale, utterly out of genre.  
  
Author's note: This story came to my mind when I was driving across the green fields of Brandenburg (a federal state of Germany) on a rainy day, listening to Michael Flatley's 'Lord of the Dance'. I had lots of fun working it out - so I hope some of you may have equal fun reading it!  
  
William Marshall is a historical person. The events described in this story, however, are fictional.  
  
Many, many thanks to Sarah and Heather for beta-reading! ____________________________________________________________________________ __  
  
  
  
0311 ZULU Kennedy Center Washington, D.C.  
  
  
  
It was the ancient battle of all times, savior against destroyer, good against evil. Advancing, retreating, circling around, the man in white and the man in black fought their deadly duel, one trying to free, one trying to destroy the 'Spirit of the Dance', that lay under the threat of being extinguished. Always increasing in speed and vehemence, the opponents approached the climax of their fight, struggling to reach their victory until finally good triumphed. The servants of the light gathered around their lord, rejoicing in the dark side's defeat.  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie sat and stared at the stage, subconsciously holding her breath, not noticing that her fingers were tightly clenched on her partner's arm. Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr would have watched her in pure amusement, had she not applied an amount of strength that would painfully show itself on his arm afterwards. As thrilled as he was, watching this incredible show, he'd be glad when it would be over because he couldn't feel his right hand anymore. But Mac seemed absolutely swept away by the performance and she was so beautiful in her trance-like state that Harm couldn't bring himself to disturb her. Well, he'd regret that tomorrow, but right now he didn't really mind.  
  
When the lights faded and the music died away Mac leant back in her seat, exhaled and closed her eyes. Then she suddenly became aware of where her hands were and her already rosy cheeks flushed even more. She loosened her grip, causing Harm to wince as his blood immediately returned to his numb hand.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harm." He could tell she was embarrassed. Flashing her a genuine flyboy-grin, he joined in the applause, the clapping soon making his hand come back to normal.  
  
"No problem, Mac. I'm glad you enjoyed the show."  
  
"I really did. Thank you so much for inviting us to come here, Harm."  
  
"Yes, thank you so much, sir... uhm... Harm," Lieutenant Bud Roberts joined in the conversation, beaming brightly. "It's been a great day, right, Harriet?" He smiled at his wife.  
  
"Absolutely! Thank you so much, Harm!" Lieutenant Harriet Sims-Roberts impulsively hugged her superior officer, causing him to feel a little embarrassed.  
  
"Hey, it's been my pleasure," he retorted. "It's my birthday and I wanted to do something really nice with the people closest to me. I'm only sorry the admiral and Sturgis couldn't come."  
  
"I'm sure, the admiral would have liked the idea of getting all of us into such perfect lines and perfect synchrony as those tap-dancers," Mac said with a grin, clapping wildly as the dancers returned on stage and bowed. "But with you around that's impossible, flyboy."  
  
Harm just flashed her a knowing grin and turned his eyes back in front.  
  
Not wanting Harm to refrain from having a glass of wine on his birthday, Mac had volunteered to drive. She had parked her corvette in front of Harm's apartment, leaving him the keys and papers. They had picked up the Roberts' in Harm's SUV that she would drive home in after the show. In the morning, back at JAG, they'd exchange their cars again.  
  
Having dropped the Roberts' off at their house, Mac drove Harm over to his place. Both were lost in their thoughts, barely exchanging a word until Mac stopped the car in front of his entrance. "Thanks again for a magical evening, sailor." She smiled.  
  
Harm suddenly felt unsure of himself. It was one thing riding across Afghanistan in a humvee with Mac and him in cammies. Being in mess dress, with her in a gorgeous evening dress right by his side, closed in the intimacy of a civilian car was something totally different, something he didn't often do and wasn't accustomed to.  
  
"You're very welcome, Marine," he said, smiling back, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the passenger's door. Before exiting he hesitated and turned to face her but didn't know what to say. The only thing he knew was that he didn't want her to leave but he'd rather bite his tongue than let that slip.  
  
Mac, still on the emotional roller-coaster ride caused by the show, didn't really consider her actions as she quickly leaned in and brushed a feather- light kiss to his lips.  
  
"Happy birthday, Harm."  
  
His dumbfounded expression made her chuckle. At the sound he started, swallowed and gave her a puzzled smile, turning to exit the car.  
  
"Thanks for coming, Sarah." He closed the door, waved a shy greeting through the windscreen and watched as she drove off. Thoroughly shaken by her unexpected display of feelings he slowly ascended the steps to his apartment.  
  
  
  
0522 ZULU Mac's apartment Georgetown, D.C.  
  
  
  
'I can't believe I did that!' she kept scolding herself again and again, blushing at the very thought of their kiss, her knees still slightly unsteady. Why did she always have to do something foolish, every time their friendship was back on track after the painful experiences of the last few years? They'd begun to relax around each other after his return from flying - and she'd had to start that fateful conversation on the ferry. They'd started to come just a little closer again after Mic had come to the States, being out on missions together - and she'd moved the ring. They'd finally spoken from the heart on the admiral's porch, kissing each other, and it had made her feel something she'd never experienced with any other man - and she'd said that they were getting too good at saying goodbye. He'd wanted to talk to her after his crash - and she'd fled to the Guadalcanal.  
  
Now they were comfortable around each other, finally having restored their wonderful friendship - and all she could do was kiss him and make him retreat into his shell. If she could only stop herself from being foolish for once! Maybe Harm even loved her, but his behavior made it clear that he didn't want to be with her. She absolutely had to refrain from making him feel uneasy or she would lose his trust and their close friendship, and that would be the end of the world.  
  
Frustrated, Mac got up and put a CD into her player. Maybe the wonderful music that had swept her away from her problems earlier could do the job again. She switched off the lights and stretched out on her bed, letting reel and hornpipe, harp and fiddle finally take her to dreamland.  
  
  
  
A.D. 1302 The O'Hara Castle Leinster, Ireland  
  
  
  
The O'Hara's had always been a well-renowned family. For generations, even before the English nobility had taken over all of Ireland, the O'Hara's had been known for their culture and diplomacy. They had always been authorities of counsel and intermediation, respected and valued by English occupants as well as by the Irish natives. It was this unstained reputation and impartiality that had earned the O'Hara's the title of baron, one of the very few Irish families to be held at the same stature as the lower English nobility. It had been William Marshall, Lord of Leinster, the great counselor of King John and regent for minor King Henry III himself, who had rewarded Patrick O'Hara with the baron's title back in 1205, and the family had honored it ever since, although even a century later, they were still not fully accepted as noblemen. They were Irish. And that was a contradiction to nobility.  
  
Baron Matthew O'Hara stood at a window of his castle's great dining hall, looking down on the River Barrow, lost in his thoughts. Those were times of trouble and he was preoccupied for his family as well as his peasants. Just like a hundred years ago, the barons were causing an uproar again, revolting against the lords' sovereignty. Back then it had been William Marshall who had resolved the conflict with supreme diplomatic expertise, counseled to a great extent by Matthew's great-great-great-great grandfather Patrick. The people of Leinster had been given the opportunity to live in peace and not worry about anything else than filling their barns and stores to grant a comfortable life for everyone. But now, everything was different.  
  
Two years ago the problems had started. A young baron named Clark Palmer had found his hero in the person of William Wallace, called Braveheart, who was right now fighting for the rights of his people in Scotland. But unlike Wallace, Palmer's ambitions were all personal. He and his wife Lauren were craving to increase their influence, enlarge their lands and fortunes. And promising the barons a fair share of the prey, they had succeeded in assembling a powerful army of knights, conquering ever larger pieces of Leinster's land. Henry, the rightful Lord of Leinster, had been unable to stop them, and England was too far away. Two knights had been sent back to the royal court, carrying a plea for assistance, but still no answer had reached the Green Isle. So Matthew had not been able to do anything when the barons had joined against Henry, assaulted the lord's castle of Kilkenny and massacred his family. The Marshalls were no more.  
  
To Palmer's astonishment his troops had encountered severe resistance after he had declared himself the new Lord of Leinster. The people, in a last ditch effort, were trying to save their country from a tyrant. But slowly, very slowly, Lord Clark's soldiers were making progress, mercilessly approaching the last shelter of order and rights that was to be found anywhere near: the castle and lands of Baron Matthew O'Hara, who had refused, pointblank, to join the rebels.  
  
"What is it, uncle?" Matthew heard a warm voice from behind him. He turned, a smile spreading over his face. Even being a grown-up woman now, a widow, aged 35 years, his niece still held his heart captive like she had when she had been a little girl and he had come to pay a visit to his sister, her mother, in Scotland.  
  
Lady Sarah Mackenzie was not very much like Lady Deanne O'Hara had been. She was tall and slender, her long dark hair always tied up rather thoroughly without much decoration. Lady Sarah was beautiful and womanly in her features, but her character had a decisively male edge. Sarah was practical and decent in her choice of dress. She didn't consider it inappropriate to pick something up from the floor when she had let it drop, or to wipe something clean herself instead of waiting a long time to have it done by a servant when there was too much work to be done in the rest of the house.  
  
Sarah had grown tough because of her life, having gone through one hell of a marriage with an abusive husband two times her age. Her mother had died shortly after Sarah had been born and her father, Lord Joseph Mackenzie, had married her to the first lucrative candidate. At fifteen years Sarah Mackenzie had become Lady Sarah Ragle. She had had three children but all of them had died in childbed. A year ago, Lord Christopher had been killed fighting at William Wallace's side and as Lord Joseph hadn't wanted to take Sarah back into his house, she had decided to join her mother's family in Ireland. She wasn't quite accepted in society, as for the English nobility she was an O'Hara and for the Irish people she was Scottish. But Sarah didn't really mind. She was long past the anger of not fitting in - in Scotland she had always been considered Irish.  
  
Sarah had loved Ireland from the moment she had arrived. The scenery was so much softer and gentler than in Scotland and her mother's family was the most welcoming people she had ever come to know. She had seen her uncle a few times in Scotland, knowing him to be honest, honorable and kind. His wife Mary had turned out just the same, adding a becoming amount of mischievous humor that she had obviously passed on to her two daughters, Harriet and little Chloe.  
  
In Harriet, Sarah had found the first true friend she had ever had in her life. The slightly younger lively blonde soon ceased to be her cousin and became the sister Sarah had never had. And fourteen-year old Chloe adored and admired Sarah from the bottom of her heart. Sarah would have broken entirely with her past in Scotland, had it not been for her name and the one person who'd accompanied her all the way to Ireland: Father Chegwidden who had baptized and married her and who considered Sarah the daughter he wasn't allowed to have.  
  
"What is it? Tell me," Sarah again gently urged her uncle to speak. She was a very accomplished woman and had sharp wits, combined with thorough knowledge of the world. These qualities made her an agreeable individual to converse with - at least to Matthew who didn't share the public opinion that women weren't supposed to be educated, unless one referred to singing and playing the harp.  
  
He sighed, turning to his niece. "We still don't have word from the king, my dear."  
  
Sarah was getting worried about the current situation, but seeing her uncle bear the weight of concern for all his dependents, she tried to sound reassuring. "I'm sure he won't forget us, uncle."  
  
"Let us just hope help arrives before Palmer does."  
  
Sarah sighed her consent and looked out of the window, down on the narrow road that wound parallel to the Barrow's shore. A few moments later she gasped and only pointed her index finger to where she had been looking: two knights came riding towards the castle, one of them bearing the royal banner.  
  
Hurried activities set in the moment Matthew gave orders to prepare to receive them properly. Sarah smoothed the black dress she was still bound to wear and stepped behind Mary, Harriet and Chloe as the family gathered behind Baron Matthew, ready to greet King Edward's delegates.  
  
A short time later the herald announced the unexpected visitors to the O'Hara's: "Bringing word of King Edward, let us welcome two noblemen, knights of the king's personal trust, Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon."  
  
The two knights stepped forward and bowed before Matthew. The slightly shorter one, who had dark blond hair and a somewhat secretive expression on his face, introduced them in full: "Baron Matthew, I am Sir Clayton Webb of Arundel, chief diplomatic ambassador to our king, and this," he motioned to the other knight, a tall, dark-haired man with lively blue-green eyes, who bowed silently, "Is Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance, our king's personal attaché in foreign affairs. We are honored to be received by you and your family and we bear a message from our liege lord. King Edward commands you to stay firm and not surrender to Clark Palmer's troupes. Reinforcements are right now on their way to Ireland in order to restore freedom to Leinster. We are also ordered to prepare a grand counsel of all noblemen in order to elect a new leader for the lands once peace is restored. May we claim your hospitality, baron?"  
  
Matthew was relieved. Finally, there seemed to be a chance to sort out this affair. "We are honored by your presence, Sir Clayton, Sir Harmon. The king's ambassadors will always be welcome in my house. Let me present to you my family: Lady Mary O'Hara, my wife. My daughters, Ladies Harriet and Chloe O'Hara. My second cousin's son Sir Bud Roberts, betrothed to my daughter Harriet. And my niece, daughter of my late sister Lady Deanne: Lady Sarah Mackenzie."  
  
As each of the family had been presented, they had either bowed or curtsied and received bows in return. Nothing special had happened until the moment when Sarah was presented. Sir Harmon had avoided looking openly at anyone of the family, his reluctance of getting too close with people always made him create a wall around himself from the start. But as Lady Sarah stepped forward with a slight, warm smile and sank into an elegant curtsy in front of them, Harmon's control failed him for the very first time.  
  
Harmon and Sarah's eyes met - and held. The fearless knight felt his stomach tighten and his knees begin to shake at seeing her. Though dressed to mourn, the woman before him was still young and had lost nothing of her bloom. Her attitude conveyed silent submission into the women's role but at the same time held an inward rebellion against it and showed the determination to be independent. Her manners came naturally with friendliness but there was something to them that spoke of a deeper dimension. This woman had seen the difficulties of life and had emerged from them with her head uplifted.  
  
But what captivated Harmon most were her huge dark eyes. They showed grace as well as tenacity, strength as well as vulnerability and temper as well as the ability to deeply love and commit. Harmon had never listened to the king and his friends as they were trying to talk him into looking for a possible wife. He'd found women shallow and boring. But this lady in front of him, who didn't shyly avert her eyes but firmly and openly returned his glance, showing rather unwomanly curiosity and a feeling of intellectual equality... Harmon instantly felt connected to her in some strange way. And the idea frightened him in a way he had believed a knight to be resistant to. It was him who finally had to break the eye contact, unable to bear the unknown tension.  
  
Matthew made an inviting gesture towards the two knights. "Let me show you to our guest quarters, sirs, my servants will see to your horses and luggage. And after resting and refreshing yourselves, I hope you will consent to join us tonight for a little private celebration with a number of Irish families, celebrating the saint's day of St. Patrick." Matthew really hoped the Englishmen would agree - their connection with the Irish could indeed prove vital in the political events, as seemingly all the lower English gentry had joined Palmer.  
  
Obviously the knights fully knew the situation and the conflict Matthew faced. "We'd be honored to join you, baron." It was the first thing Sir Harmon had said and Sarah felt a strange attraction to the man upon hearing his voice that reminded her of dark velvet.  
  
"I am glad to hear it, Sir Harmon," Matthew stated with a warm smile. "So, please, sirs, follow me upstairs."  
  
On the way out of the dining hall Harmon turned to cast one last look at Lady Sarah. He lifted his eyes in her direction - only to find her looking at him with a strange, unreadable expression on her face.  
  
Harriet, Chloe and Sarah had retreated to the library where they used to spend most of their indoor time. Baron Matthew had a rather unique library for a non-clerical person. It comprised about a hundred and fifty works, mostly religious as the collection had belonged to his great-great grandfather's brother, an abbot. Most people found it somewhat odd that Matthew had books at all - people didn't need to read. The friars did that in the monasteries, and having books copied was very expensive so why should they bother? Sarah was fond of reading, though. Harriet would sit by with her embroidery and Chloe would spend endless hours drawing chalk pictures on little blackboards. There was a comfortable fire burning in the hall and armchairs invited to sit next to it. It was the perfect place to let go of womanly etiquette and be oneself.  
  
But today Sarah found it hard to concentrate on the Virgil she was reading. She had studied quite a bit of Latin with Father Chegwidden's help whenever her husband had been away and she loved the adventures of Aeneas. But today the letters swam in front of her eyes, even though they had been copied by a very capable person. And reading with a blurred vision was always dangerous to the precious and expensive books as a falling tear threatened to leave traces on the writing, washing away some ink. So finally Sarah closed the huge book with a sigh, letting herself sink back in her armchair.  
  
Harriet smiled knowingly at her. "You should have seen yourself, Sarah," she said quietly. "Your eyes seemed like magnets holding Sir Harmon's glance."  
  
"What do you mean?" Sarah asked indignantly, blushing despite herself.  
  
Harriet's smile only grew. "It's me, Sarah, no need to deny it. I witnessed your exchange with the king's attaché. He fascinates you."  
  
Seeing Chloe look up with interest, Sarah chose not to answer until the girl had exited the room to find someone who had some more chalk for her.  
  
"Sir Harmon has... uhm... interesting features," Sarah said with an embarrassed smile.  
  
Harriet tried to stifle a laugh. "That's a nice understatement. He's one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. And he was obviously smitten with you, cousin."  
  
Sarah impatiently looked down on her idle hands. "I'm supposed to mourn my dead husband, Harriet."  
  
"You have been mourning him for more than a year now, Sarah. You're still a young woman. Try and divert yourself a little bit. And if you should happen to find a husband..." Harriet counseled.  
  
Sarah looked at her cousin uneasily. "I don't know. I don't think it would be proper."  
  
"Just be yourself tonight and we'll see what the future brings." Harriet smiled jovially.  
  
Sarah sighed and resolved to give it a try. 'Yes,' she had to silently admit to herself, 'Yes, Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance did impress me. He seems to care for things that are beyond society and physical well-being. I'd really like to get to know him better.'  
  
"Did you see her, Clay?" Harmon asked from his bed, more speaking to himself than to his closest friend who was trying to get some sleep on the second bed that stood about three meters away.  
  
Clayton smiled. A little more of this and he would finally win his bet. Harmon had bet he'd never meet a woman that could possibly interest him. But that had been before he had learnt about the existence of Lady Sarah Mackenzie. "Yes, Harm, of course I saw her. A real beauty, even in her simple black dress. Good choice."  
  
"Choice?" Harmon was irritated, Clayton could tell that much. Harmon went on, a little too quickly: "I made no choice. I just saw this woman and was attracted to her. Passing moment."  
  
"I'd really appreciate it if it were a passing moment, Harm. Right now we need your expertise and undivided attention for the negotiations about Leinster's future. But obviously I won my bet..."  
  
To Clayton's surprise Harmon didn't shoot him a sharp reply like he normally would have. Harmon only smiled and lay back on his bed, a sure sign that something was up.  
  
"You're probably right, Clay. I'd never dare to admit it to anyone, let alone her. But as you're my best friend... Clay, I think I may have fallen in love with Lady Sarah the moment I saw her. She's someone who always stands her ground. Her manner of not backing away deeply impressed me. And she's the most beautiful woman I have ever met."  
  
"That's quite an admission, Harm," Clayton said thoughtfully. Then he smiled. "Tell her. I'm sure she's feeling something similar towards you. I think I saw the expression in her eyes change from friendly interest to admiration and something beyond I couldn't quite place. Go for her, Harm."  
  
"Never!" his friend replied vehemently. "I'd die trying to get any words out. And who knows if she could love me back. See, I know people marry for simple reasons, but I made a promise to myself long ago that nothing but true love would ever force me into marriage."  
  
"Well, then get ready for church," Clayton smiled and turned to the other side, leaving Harmon staring at his back, open-mouthed.  
  
  
  
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!) 


	2. Chapter Two

'Once upon a time on a green, green island' - Part Two Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
  
  
  
From part one:  
  
To Clayton's surprise Harmon didn't shoot him a sharp reply like he normally would have. Harmon only smiled and lay back on his bed, a sure sign that something was up.  
  
"You're probably right, Clay. I'd never dare to admit it to anyone, let alone her. But as you're my best friend... Clay, I think I may have fallen in love with Lady Sarah the moment I saw her. She's someone who always stands her ground. Her manner of not backing away deeply impressed me. And she's the most beautiful woman I ever met."  
  
"That's quite an admission, Harm," Clayton said thoughtfully. Then he smiled. "Tell her. I'm sure she's feeling something similar towards you. I think I saw the expression in her eyes change from friendly interest to admiration and something beyond I couldn't quite place. Go for her, Harm."  
  
"Never!" his friend replied vehemently. "I'd die trying to get any words out. And who knows if she could love me back. See, I know people marry for reason, but I made a promise to myself long ago that nothing but true love would ever induce me into marriage."  
  
"Well, then get ready for church," Clayton smiled and turned to the other side, leaving Harmon staring at his back, open-mouthed.  
  
  
  
Part Two:  
  
Clad in the finest garments they had brought (diplomatic negotiations always required a certain level of decorum), Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon after sunset descended into the great dining hall that was lit by what must have been about a hundred small torches. Harmon watched his friend as he gallantly greeted Lady Mary. Why did Clay always prefer wearing this inconspicuous dark gray? He was a good-looking man, a little color would do him good.  
  
The outfit Harmon preferred for official occasions always earned him praise. It was as modest as Clay's to be sure, but the whole set of garments had been bleached to a beautiful ivory white that gave its wearer a slightly aristocratic air. And in addition to that, Harmon always wore an old gold pin on the left side of his chest. He had inherited it from his father and it showed an eagle spreading his wings. He didn't know why, but somehow Harmon had always held this pin in the highest esteem.  
  
Having greeted Baron Matthew and Lady Mary, Clayton and Harmon were led over to the long dining table. They didn't notice the slight smile and the wink that the servant who guided them cast at Lady Harriet who quickly stifled a satisfied smile.  
  
"Sir Harmon," the servant now spoke up stiffly, "Sir, let me introduce you to your dinner partner for tonight." He turned to the woman that was approaching them a little shyly. A smile graced Sarah Mackenzie's features. Harmon's breath caught in his throat.  
  
"Lady Sarah, meet Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance," the servant announced.  
  
Harmon's eyes were at once drawn to those dark ones of hers, that seemed deep but yet impenetrable, full of a mystery Harmon didn't know anything about. He was frightened and fascinated at the same time. "At your service, milady," he said with a slight bow, never breaking the eye contact, his voice just a little hoarse. Sarah looked even more beautiful than she had upon his arrival. She was still wearing black, but there was some decent embroidery visible around her waist, worked in delicate dark red silk threats. And she was wearing a single dark red silk ribbon woven into her pinned-up hair. With a smile, he pulled back her chair for her.  
  
The moment she saw him smile for the first time, Sarah knew hers was a hopeless case. This was no ordinary smile. It was a spell, flooding through her body, weakening her mind, causing her heart to start beating wildly. Willing herself to hold his glance, Sarah gracefully held out her right hand, hoping he wouldn't notice that she was trembling. "I'm honored, Sir Harmon."  
  
Harmon swallowed as he took her hand. He bowed again and very softly placed a kiss on her knuckles. He knew very well that his lips weren't supposed to touch her skin, but he couldn't refrain from stealing a second of physical contact with her. He felt her start and at once glanced up apologetically. But to his astonishment, he didn't see traces of annoyance on her beautiful features. Her expression had changed from curiosity to... embarrassed excitement? The smile that she now cast him made him involuntarily hold on to his chair as they sat down.  
  
After a few moments of awkward silence, Sarah spoke up in a low voice. "Sir, I hope you'll find your place close enough to my uncle's to conduct any necessary conversations."  
  
Her statement caught him totally off-guard. Harmon had suspected that she would be interested to some degree in what was going on in the outside world, but it surprised him to actually find her informed about why they were here. "Umm... yes, thank you, milady. I am quite comfortable with the situation." Another smile.  
  
"The families present tonight would be part of the nobility, if they weren't Irish," Sarah went on in a guarded voice, her expression showing an easy smile, though. Harmon decided it had to be some kind of a diversionary tactic. The others didn't need to know they were talking politics.  
  
"Where do they belong instead?" he only asked.  
  
"They are mostly tradesmen and salesmen, wealthy, all of them, but only few have access to society. As I said, we're not English." Was that a sharp edge in her soft voice?  
  
"Do you resent the English?" he asked carefully.  
  
"Some of them I do. But as you may have noticed," she cast him a wry smile, "I'm not really accepted either. To the English I'm Irish, to the Irish I'm Scottish, and the Scotsmen gladly sent me back to Ireland again."  
  
Harmon decided he liked her sense of irony.  
  
"You know, milady," he whispered conspiratorially, "Like you, I'm some kind of a wanderer between those two countries. So far we are equal."  
  
She observed him closely, one eyebrow up. "How so, Sir Harmon?"  
  
He tried half a smile. "My mother was born in Ireland but left with her family when she was still very young."  
  
Sarah found his smile too contagious to remain earnest. Flashing him back a full one, but one with a decisively mocking tendency, she remarked: "Nice try by an Englishman to fraternize with us outcasts. But I bet your family's always been English, even though they were living here. Or am I mistaken, sir?"  
  
Enchanted by the mischievous knowing sparkle in her eyes, Harmon held up his hands in defense, chuckling. "Milady, you are a mind-reader. I confess."  
  
She only smiled back, losing herself in those blue-green eyes of his and trying to stay calm, at least outwardly.  
  
Clayton had been left alone for a minute when the servant had taken Harmon away to show him to his place. Now he became aware of Lady Harriet walking towards him, accompanied by a petite woman with dark brown hair and light blue eyes.  
  
"Sir Clayton, it's a pleasure to see you," Harriet greeted him, smiling.  
  
"Milady..." Clayton exercised a perfect bow and blew a gallant kiss to her outstretched hand.  
  
"Sir, let me introduce you to your dinner partner for tonight," Harriet said, indicating her friend. "Miss Aine O'Meara, my father's steward's daughter and a very dear friend."  
  
Clayton silently greeted the young lady, his schooled vision instantly measuring her. She seemed fragile and in need of protection but something around the corners of her mouth belied the impression. Her smile was self- confident and her light blue eyes, that on first impression had seemed angelic, on a closer look showed a carefully guarded iron will and intelligence. 'This is interesting,' he thought, puzzled by her appearance. The freckles on her nose only added to his confusion about not being able to place her into a scheme.  
  
"Sir, I believe you will find Aine a very interesting person." Clayton all but jumped at the forceful undertone Harriet's voice had suddenly taken on. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation.  
  
"Aine is a close companion to Lady Lauren Palmer," Harriet explained, her voice very low. "Of course in Kilkenny she's not known as Aine O'Meara. She has been presented at Palmer's court as Megan Connelly, daughter of a London jeweler who sent her back to Ireland to get to know her roots."  
  
Clayton's eyebrows went up a notch. 'This lady is definitely interesting.' "I am very pleased to meet you, Miss O'Meara."  
  
"Likewise, Sir Clayton." Her voice was clear, not too high-pitched and very melodious.  
  
Clayton offered his arm to Aine and led her over to the table. At a sign from one of the servants, they sat down face to face with Harmon and Sarah. Next to Clayton sat Lady Mary and Baron Matthew, Harriet took the chair next to Harmon and Sir Bud sat down next to her. To Sarah's right appeared an elderly balding friar, pulling up a chair for Chloe at his side and introducing himself as Father Chegwidden.  
  
Clayton's puzzled glance met Harmon's. His friend raised his eyebrows and shrugged. So Clayton decided to try the direct approach as soon as the first course had been served. "Baron," he asked in a guarded voice, "Excuse me if I seem a little rude, but do you want us to discuss politics in the company of the ladies?"  
  
Matthew decided not to take offence. The question hadn't shown any disrespect, only curiosity about this rather uncommon situation. "Yes, Sir Clayton," he answered openly. "I am aware that this may seem inappropriate but in this house, whoever takes an interest in the recent events and has shown himself or herself capable of digesting them intellectually, is always free to participate in the conversation, including the ladies."  
  
"I see, baron." If Clayton was surprised he didn't show it.  
  
"But I suggest we eat first," Matthew added with a smile.  
  
"Amen to that," Father Chegwidden remarked dryly, speaking up for the first time and surprising the knights.  
  
'A gruff-looking clergyman with a sense of humor. The world never ceases to surprise me,' Harmon thought, hiding a smile. Sarah had seen it, though.  
  
"Father Chegwidden is a very dear friend," she told him in a 'private- conversation' tone. Her face sobered as she went on: "I guess I owe it to him that I made it this far. He was always there for me when I needed comfort."  
  
Harmon fought his curiosity. He craved to learn more about Lady Sarah, and the sadness and resignation that, for the briefest moment, had shown in her eyes, had made him want to gather her into his arms and protect her from the memories that were obviously haunting her. However, he quickly became aware that she didn't need protection. Studying Harmon's face intently, Sarah's own slowly lit up again to a huge smirk.  
  
"No need to hide your curiosity, sir. I've seen this expression too often on Chloe's face. It never escapes my notice. You are free to ask questions, sir, which I am free not to answer. Go ahead." She smiled at him openly.  
  
'My God, I claim to be a diplomat and a skilled negotiator. I can't be that obvious, can I?' Harmon was mentally slapping himself as a slight blush crept to his cheeks and he embarrassedly averted his eyes for a moment. Finally he decided that taking her up on her offer would be the easiest way out. "Thank you, milady, and I beg your pardon if I touch a topic you would rather not remember. But as I am, as you say, free to ask any questions: When did your husband die?"  
  
"It's been a little more than a year now, sir," she answered openly, not in the least offended. Sensing what kind of information the knight would probably like to gather and feeling eager herself to supply him with the important facts, she added: "I was married to Lord Christopher Ragle, back in Scotland, for the last twenty years."  
  
Harmon's eyes nearly popped out of their holes. Twenty years! She had to be much nearer his own age - forty - than he'd have thought possible. She looked so young. "Do you... do you have any children?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse, feeling a sudden sting of jealousy towards the man who had been allowed to love this woman for so long.  
  
Her expression clouded and, swallowing, she looked down on her plate.  
  
"I beg your pardon, milady. Don't answer if it hurts you." 'Ever the diplomat, Harmon, ever the diplomat. You do a thorough job conjuring up bad memories,' he scolded himself.  
  
"No, I'll answer," she replied very low, again looking up to him. Sarah was astonished by herself. She had spoken of her children to no one else but Father Chegwidden and Harriet. Everyone in her family knew about them, of course, but no one ever alluded to it. Strangely, though, Sarah felt she wanted to talk to Harmon about her shattered dreams of having a family. She barely knew him but somehow she felt he was someone to confide in. The realization made her uneasy but she tried to ignore the feeling.  
  
"I was sixteen when my firstborn, Christopher, died while I was giving birth." Her voice was strained and low, but something deep inside urged her to go on. "My second child, Deanne, was allowed to live a week before the Lord took her to him. When I was twenty, I had another son, Matthew, who was born far too early to survive. After that I've never been blessed with a child again. And I never will be, I'm afraid." The last was added in a whisper.  
  
Harmon felt the desperate need to ease some of the pain showing on Sarah's beautiful features. But he didn't know how. How could he? The idea of having a family had never occurred to him. Until today... With a start he realized where his thoughts were heading. With all the mental strength he could muster, he banished them from his mind. "At least you had your husband to comfort and support you." It sounded lame.  
  
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. "He was most comforting to me when he was far away. I could at least feel sure to go to sleep in one piece. I had Father Chegwidden to help me. He taught me to read and write and to read Latin, too. I spent many hours in the library of the nearby monastery. It was the kind of diversion I needed." Sarah was scrutinizing the food on her plate.  
  
"I am infinitely sorry, milady. I shouldn't have started asking questions." Harmon didn't know where to look. His left hand that was resting on his thigh had clenched to a tight fist when he had understood just what kind of a marriage she had endured in the last twenty years. How could a man be blessed with such a woman and treat her in such a way?  
  
"I offered to answer them," was her simple reply. She looked up again and met his glance. An incredible feeling of warmth and shelter welled up inside her as she heard him say: "Don't let go of your dreams, milady. I can feel that one day they will finally come true. All of them."  
  
Clayton and Aine had been talking animatedly about almost everything. Clayton found his partner a bright and amusing woman, thoroughly educated and equipped with an accurate sense of judgment. Obviously she had attended private lessons together with Harriet. Aine had been lucky that her father's master clung to the odd point of view that women should have their share of education. And to that she added an amazing readiness to respond, parrying every sharp sentence he shot her. Clayton reluctantly admitted to himself that he deliberately challenged her because he had come to like the sparkle that was showing in her eyes when she was preparing for attack.  
  
Suddenly Aine leant close to him and conspiratorially said: "Look at your friend and Sarah. They seem to have forgotten we even exist."  
  
Clayton's smirk was huge. "I guess Harmon owes me a bottle of whiskey from his father's distillery."  
  
Aine looked at him with a mocking frown. "Why?"  
  
"Because Harmon the Impenetrable Heart has finally fallen in love with someone."  
  
"Was it that improbable that he would some day?"  
  
Clayton chuckled at her indignant impression. "At least to him, yes. He has never had an interest in women. Of course he had his share of experience when he was still a little younger but there has never been one single female human being that came even close to enchant him. God knows, all our friends, his family, even the king himself tried to convince him to marry but he is stubborn. Whoever we came up with - the ladies never suited him."  
  
"And you, sir?"  
  
Her question caught him totally off-guard. He choked on his wine and needed a few moments to regain his breathing. Suddenly feeling uneasy, he replied lightly: "Fifteen years ago there was a girl I proposed to. She wouldn't have me. End of conversation. I find I am far better off like this. And I don't suffer any teasing because I tried." He smiled innocently.  
  
"Ah," was all she said. Somehow Clayton got the unwelcome feeling that inwardly Aine was laughing at his expense. And more disturbing still was the fact that it bothered him this much.  
  
"Miss O'Meara," Baron Matthew now cut in, "I think the other guests are busy with their meals and their own conversations now. Would you mind giving us the news now that you spoke of?"  
  
Everyone in the family circle, including the two knights, immediately turned their attention to her.  
  
"Of course, baron," Aine answered readily. "The situation is easily described: Palmer somehow learnt of King Edward moving his army towards the Irish sea, planning to cross it from the Welsh land's end. Palmer's soldiers set up an ambush to greet the royal troops once they set foot on Irish soil."  
  
"Do we know anything about the exact location and the nature of this ambush?" Harmon asked.  
  
"Unfortunately not yet. We haven't yet found a suitable solution to the problem of viewing the situation unobtrusively," Aine answered with a frown.  
  
"We can't spare any men right now," Matthew sighed. "Palmer's troops are closing in and I need my men to defend their families. So who could be sent?"  
  
"Baron, if I may... I have a proposition to make," Aine ventured boldly. Astonished glances met her eyes. "You could spare Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon as you didn't count on them when you and my father first prepared your defenses. They could go, examine the situation and immediately cross over to Wales to meet and warn the king, whereas... someone else would return and brief you."  
  
Matthew's eyes narrowed. "I know that expression, Miss O'Meara. Your father's is just the same when he is up to something. So, tell me, who would get the news back to the castle?"  
  
"Lady Sarah, Father Chegwidden and I would, baron." Aine's expression was devoid of any joking. As she saw that several people - mostly male - around the table were all taking deep breaths to vehemently contradict, she held up a hand. "I proposed my plan to my father and after calming down and thinking about it, he found that it might actually be our only chance to do it and still guarantee a certain safety for the messengers. Sarah and I would be traveling as nuns, Sir Clayton and Sir Harmon as friars. Father Chegwidden would be head of our group, the friars escorting their sisters in God to another monastery, farther away from the uproars. Being clericals, we would be relatively safe on the road."  
  
'Good one, this one!' Clayton thought, suppressing a grin. He was the first to break the stunned silence that prevailed as Aine's words sank in. "I think, Miss O'Meara has indeed found the only practicable solution to our dilemma. Lady Sarah, would you agree to participate?"  
  
Matthew tried to intervene but his niece was quicker. "Of course I do." Seeing the way her jaw was set, Matthew sighed, knowing there would be no way to dissuade her from going. Harmon cast Clayton a worried glance but after a minute silently consented. Given the situation as it was, this would indeed turn out to be the best way to proceed. He only dreaded to involve Sarah in a situation like this.  
  
"Don't make yourself uneasy, gentlemen," Father Chegwidden spoke up. "I promise to bring them back safely."  
  
Matthew looked at his wife, at Bud, at Harriet - and finally shrugged as he found that they all agreed with Aine. "All right. The five of you shall ride tomorrow morning."  
  
They had finished their fruit as a couple of musicians were led into the room, took a stand at the far side and started to play a merry reel.  
  
"Oh, come on, let's dance and forget about politics for awhile!" Harriet eagerly got up and dragged her fiancé with her. Matthew and Mary just watched, smiling.  
  
"Do you dance, Miss O'Meara?" Clayton heard himself say, utterly unable to explain where the idea had come from. He never danced although he had learnt it as part of a young nobleman's general education. Harmon's head snapped up and he stared incredulously at his friend, who was beginning to regret making the offer.  
  
Aine radiantly beamed at Clayton. "I love dancing, sir. I'm honored by your offer and I gladly accept."  
  
Harmon took a deep breath and, feeling unsure, turned to Sarah. "Might I claim this dance, milady?"  
  
"I am sorry," she replied, looking down at her hands that were lying idly in her lap. Harmon's heart sank. He had offended her with his questions, he knew it. Sarah looked up again, longing and sadness shining in her eyes. "I would love to dance with you, Sir Harmon, but it wouldn't be proper. I am still mourning my late husband."  
  
Normally this would have been sad news, but Harmon's relief that it hadn't been his fault made him smile. "May I suggest a little fresh air on the terrace then, milady?"  
  
Sarah's face immediately lit up. "With pleasure."  
  
Neither of the two noticed the smiles Matthew, Mary and Father Chegwidden exchanged behind their backs.  
  
Outside, a starry sky was spreading over the castle. Harmon and Sarah were alone on the huge stone terrace that provided a spectacular view over the many curves of the river Barrow whose waters were reflecting the starlight. Standing side by side and silently enjoying the atmosphere, neither of them spoke a word. Only after quite some time Sarah addressed him quietly.  
  
"When all this is over, what will you do, Sir Harmon?"  
  
He let his gaze wander far off. "Right now I don't know. With the upcoming political developments there might be a major change of position in store for me. If I prove myself capable in the negotiations, that is."  
  
"Do you really think people will be able to agree on a new sovereign for Leinster?" she asked thoughtfully, doubts shining in her voice. To her astonishment, his answer bore audible traces of a smile.  
  
"Clayton and I might just have a little surprise weapon in our pockets," was all he said and she sensed that he wouldn't dwell on the subject any further.  
  
"So, what do you do, once your mourning is over?" he asked after a while. He had meant to say it lightly, but failed.  
  
"I don't know, either," she replied with a sigh. "I won't have much of a choice. I can either remarry or stay right here." He knew she was being realistic and the injustice of her situation hit him. He wanted her to be able to decide her fate entirely by herself. She deserved it.  
  
"Why don't you do something different? You are an independent woman, Lady Sarah. Go and get to know the world," he encouraged her. Her bitter laugh hurt.  
  
"It's easy for you to propose something of the kind, sir. You are a man. Although I feel up to the challenge I could never do it. Being a woman can be kind of a prison." She sighed. "Do you know how lucky you are, sir? You are free in your decisions. There is absolutely no one to tell you what to do except God and the king and your local sovereign."  
  
She was wrong. She was wrong and he had to tell her, now. Looking down and locking his gaze with hers, he softly and intensely replied: "Until yesterday I would have agreed. But today I find that my situation will never be the same again. There is someone who can order me. Sarah," he swallowed, "My heart..." He put his right hand to the left side of his chest. "My voice..." With his fingertips he touched his lower lip. "And my mind..." He brought his fingertips to his temple. "Are yours to command." His right hand closed to a fist, he put it to his left shoulder and inclined his head in silent submission before her.  
  
When he looked up again, he found her eyes brimming with tears. "Harmon," she softly answered, making his heart beat frantically at her informal use of his name, "My mind..." She gently put her fingertips to her temple. "My voice..." She softly touched her lower lip. "And my heart..." She laid her right hand on the left side of her chest, never breaking the eye contact. "Are yours to possess." She held her hand out to him, her palm turned up.  
  
Harmon's hand was trembling when his fingers encircled hers. They stood frozen in their position for several long minutes, lost in each other's eyes. Finally, she gently pulled her hand away, offering him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.  
  
"Good night, Harmon."  
  
"Good night, Sarah."  
  
She turned and entered the hall, excused herself from society, claiming she needed some sleep before going on their secret mission in the morning, and went upstairs. Laying down on her bed, the image of Harmon was the last thing she saw before drifting off to sleep.  
  
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!) 


	3. Chapter Three

'Once upon a time on a green, green island' - Part Three Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
  
  
  
From part two:  
  
"It's easy for you to propose something of the kind, sir. You are a man. Although I feel up to the challenge I could never do it. Being a woman can be kind of a prison." She sighed. "Do you know how lucky you are, sir? You are free in your decisions. There is absolutely no one to tell you what to do except God and the king and your local sovereign."  
  
She was wrong. She was wrong and he had to tell her, now. Looking down and locking his gaze with hers, he softly and intensely replied: "Until yesterday I would have agreed. But today I find that my situation will never be the same again. There is someone who can order me. Sarah," he swallowed, "My heart..." He put his right hand to the left side of his chest. "My voice..." With his fingertips he touched his lower lip. "And my mind..." He brought his fingertips to his temple. "Are yours to command." His right hand closed to a fist, he put it to his left shoulder and inclined his head in silent submission before her.  
  
When he looked up again, he found her eyes brimming with tears. "Harmon," she softly answered, making his heart beat frantically at her informal use of his name, "My mind..." She gently put her fingertips to her temple. "My voice..." She softly touched her lower lip. "And my heart..." She laid her right hand on the left side of her chest, never breaking the eye contact. "Are yours to possess." She held her hand out to him, her palm turned up.  
  
Harmon's hand was trembling when his fingers encircled hers. They stood frozen in their position for several long minutes, lost in each other's eyes. Finally, she gently pulled her hand away, offering him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.  
  
"Good night, Harmon."  
  
"Good night, Sarah."  
  
She turned and entered the hall, excused herself from society, claiming she needed some sleep before going on their secret mission in the morning, and went upstairs. Laying down on her bed, the image of Harmon was the last thing she saw before drifting off to sleep.  
  
  
  
Part Three: (The fairy tale continues...)  
  
The sun hadn't yet risen when the five riders set off on their quest. The sky was a pale cobalt blue, passing through violet to a faint reddish glow somewhere near the horizon. The grass was wet with dew and the horses' breath hung in the chilly air, forming little clouds. All was silent. The silence was so intimidating that no one spoke, or even thought about speaking, and the only sounds were the soft taps of the horses' hooves on the path and the occasional soft whinnying.  
  
They rode in single file, Father Chegwidden taking the lead on his trusty old mule. Then followed Aine as she knew where they were headed. Sarah rode in the middle, keeping contact to both ends of their file and passing on any information. Clayton had let Harmon go directly behind her, knowing his friend somehow needed to be near this lady. He had no idea just what had happened between the two of them the night before, but something must have. Harmon had been walking on air the whole evening. So he, Clayton had decided to ride last and watch out from behind.  
  
Sarah was feeling increasingly uneasy. Harmon had given her no sign whatsoever that he remembered their conversation of the previous night. He had greeted her without a smile when they met, had not even so much as looked at her, and whenever she now turned around to pass on something that had been said in front he would sort of stare right through her and acknowledge with nothing but a short nod that he had understood. At first, Sarah had been thoroughly shaken by his odd behavior. A sudden flash of hurt had stung violently in her heart and only with a huge effort had she gulped down her rising tears.  
  
Then, taking in the whole group, she had suddenly found the explanation. He was acting his role. Harmon and Clayton had been given simple brown woolen habits by Father Chegwidden who was a Franciscan. It had been more difficult to get the ladies equipped but Father Chegwidden had sent a trustworthy young friar on an express ride to the nearby monastery of Carmelites to get the necessary garments for them. The only problem was that Aine and Sarah, pretending to be Carmelites, would have to go barefooted. But it couldn't be helped.  
  
Seeing Harmon put on his hood and adjust his girdle, Sarah became aware that he might just be trying to create a distance that would be necessary to make people believe that they were in fact who they pretended to be. Any personal interest displayed between friars and sisters would only create unwelcome attention. Adjusting her own behavior to those rules, Sarah had ridden off, feeling comforted. But as the hours crept on and on, doubts began to rise at the back of her mind if Sir Harmon might be sorry for what he had said to her the day before. Not having known real love and friendship until a year ago and being accustomed to trusting no one completely, Sarah's resolve to give Harmon the benefit of a doubt was melting away as quickly as the sun now rose in the east.  
  
Harmon had at once sensed the slight change in Lady Sarah's attitude towards him. As they continued their journey, he was growing more and more desperate that he had no opportunity to set her mind at ease and make the hurt vanish from those beautiful eyes he had come to love. But he knew that their safety depended entirely on not being disclosed as who they were in reality, so he continued to ignore her best as he could. However, a little voice at the back of his mind kept telling him that he was using their cover as an excuse to ignore these feelings which had quickly grown into something unknown and frightening. 'If you really wanted to,' the little voice kept repeating, 'You would find a way to get to her without being obtrusive. You just don't dare to try.'  
  
They had followed down the Barrow's shores for a couple of hours, careful to avoid any villages, stopping at a parsonage once for supplies. Father Chegwidden had carefully seen to it that they regularly held their obligatory prayers, just in case anyone was observing them. By the time the sun was high in the sky, Aine motioned for them to continue eastward, leaving the Barrow to their backs. The area they now came across was much less densely populated than the Barrow's valley. Woods and green fields alternated along their way. As they finally entered the woods once again, Father Chegwidden called them to a halt.  
  
"I reckon we are far enough from any settlements that we can rest. If we want to spend the night, we will need to find shelter and make a fire." Sarah, what's the time?" The clergyman looked at his protégée.  
  
"Almost five o'clock, father," came her immediate reply. Harmon cast her a puzzled glance that grew more puzzled still as, only a minute later, the bells of a faraway church tower could be heard tolling five.  
  
"Milady, how do you do that?" Clayton asked in amazement.  
  
Sarah smiled slightly. "I have always been able to do that." She would say no more.  
  
Harmon knew that now, far away from civilization, would have been the right time and place to let Sarah know how he felt. But during all those hours of silent riding he had become rather accustomed to the behavior required of his role, and it was a lot easier than thinking about his feelings for Sarah, territory foreign to him until yesterday. So, almost out of a habit, he quickly averted his eyes when he met her glance.  
  
All day, Sarah had been desperately waiting for this moment that would finally relieve her from her silent suffering. The feelings for the tall, dark-haired nobleman that she had discovered within herself were entirely new to her as well. She had never loved anyone this way in her life. These emotions were threatening to drown her, to suffocate her, to eat her up from inside if she couldn't get a hold of the anchor she needed - the certainty that Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance felt the same for her.  
  
When she saw him avert his eyes, now that there was no more need to do so, Sarah's world shattered to pieces. She had finally managed to convince herself that she might be a woman someone could in fact love, only to see that someone back away. Tired from the long ride and the continuous constant emotional struggle, she was now unable to fight her tears. Resolving that that no one should see her cry, she quickly turned, squared her shoulders and somehow managed to steady her voice.  
  
"I will go gather some firewood." With that she quickly disappeared in the woods.  
  
Father Chegwidden had busied himself with the horses a little farther away. As he returned to the group, he stopped dead in his tracks at the scene that was unfolding before him.  
  
Even though Aine O'Meara had been riding in front of Sarah, she had become aware that strained tension had been building up high between the two riders behind her. She, too, had been waiting for the moment the tension would be allowed to finally dissolve. Now witnessing Harmon rejecting her best friend's beloved cousin in such a way, Aine lost her temper. She quickly stormed up to a startled Sir Harmon and furiously glared up into the much taller man's eyes.  
  
"How dare you?" she shouted, her eyes sending daggers. "How dare you treat her like this after inducing her to let down her guard yesterday? I don't know what happened between the two of you but I've known Sarah Mackenzie for about a year now, and she would never, never let anyone get near her if she didn't for some reason trust him to not hurt her! There are very few people that she actually allows to come close. She decided to trust you and now you betray her like this! Shame on you, Harmon Rabb! You don't deserve her! And now you can have me punished me for being disrespectful to a nobleman!"  
  
Utterly taken aback, Harmon watched the raging young woman in front of him as she took two long steadying breaths, cast him one last icy stare and walked away in the direction of their luggage. At a loss, Harmon looked at Clayton who had stood by quietly, watching.  
  
"You heard her, Harm," was his sole comment.  
  
"But Clay, what am I supposed to do? This is new to me! I couldn't possibly..."  
  
Clayton only gave him an exasperated look and with a sigh went over to help Aine set up the camp.  
  
Slowly it dawned on Harmon that his - by his judgment - little faux pas towards Sarah could have severe consequences for his own future happiness. Looking up and meeting Father Chegwidden's earnest gaze, he began to understand that establishing a relationship didn't end with admitting one's feelings. That was merely where it began. Fear started to rise inside him as Harmon came to the conclusion that only one thing could possibly straighten out this mess he had created. He would have to find Sarah and convince her somehow that he meant what he'd said the night before. And this time, he would do it with full knowledge of what it implied. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and set off in the direction Sarah had gone.  
  
Aine was rummaging through their supplies, still fuming, tears blurring her vision. True, she hadn't known Sarah for a long time, but she knew that her best friend, Harriet, adored her, and Aine herself had come to like her very much in the course of the last year. She had always wished someone would show up and grant Sarah a second chance at true personal happiness. She deserved it so much. And Aine had been as rapturous as Harriet when she sensed the instant chemistry between Sarah and Sir Harmon who had seemed an honorable and sensitive man. Until now. It wasn't fair. Sniffling, Aine quickly wiped away an angry tear and continued her search for she didn't know what. Suddenly she heard someone clear his throat next to her.  
  
"Excuse me, Miss O'Meara, may I offer you my handkerchief?" Clayton politely asked, wanting to be of service.  
  
She turned to face him, smiling embarrassedly. "I apologize for my behavior, sir. It was uncalled for."  
  
Not thinking about what he was doing, Clayton, with a half-smile, reached out and gently dried the tears on her cheeks with his handkerchief. Only after a few moments he suddenly became aware of what he was doing and, with a startled glance, took his hand away, looking down uneasily.  
  
"Thank you," Aine said quietly.  
  
"You're welcome, Miss O'Meara," Clayton said in an even lower voice, tentatively meeting her eyes and finding her smiling at him. He studied her face for a moment, before confusedly turning and joining Father Chegwidden with what he was doing.  
  
"Thank you for sparing me from having to play the angry preacher, Miss O'Meara," Father Chegwidden said, never interrupting his work.  
  
Harmon had been searching the woods for quite some time when he found her. Sarah was sitting on a huge stone, a small pile of firewood scattered at her feet, her face buried in her hands, sobbing violently. The sight tore at Harmon's heart. And what hurt more still was the knowledge that he was to blame. Careful not to scare her, he made his way up to her and kneeled down beside her.  
  
"Please forgive me," he said, his voice not entirely even. "This is new to me. I don't know how to act on it."  
  
Sarah jumped at the sound of his voice. She looked at him, hurt and mistrust shining in her eyes. "You seemed to know yesterday," she answered warily.  
  
"I didn't," he replied, looking down. "I acted on intuition."  
  
Sarah's heart suffered another sting of pain. So his admission had come from an impulse of the moment. And the feelings had passed just as quickly. Forcing down the urge to again let her tears flow, she inwardly closed up, determined to save her dignity. "I see. I am willing to forget whatever happened if that is what you want, sir."  
  
'Wrong way again, Harm. Great job you're doing there.' "No!" It almost came out as a cry. Startled, she looked up at him. Trembling, he took her hands in his. "No," he repeated softly, "I don't want to forget what I said because..." He swallowed heavily. "Because I meant it. I do still."  
  
"How do I know you do?" she asked sadly, her eyes searching his for the truth she needed.  
  
"Let me prove it to you, Sarah," he gently pleaded. "I imagine you may find it hard to trust me right now. But I can live with that if I know that you'll give me the benefit of a doubt and let me wait for my chance to prove that what I said is true. Do I ask too much?" Subconsciously chewing his lower lip, he waited for his predicament.  
  
She looked at him with a thoughtful half-smile, tears still threatening. "I guess I can do that, Harmon." She gave his hands a quick, shy squeeze.  
  
Harmon let go of her hands, stood up and turned to leave, sensing Sarah needed some time alone to come to terms with her feelings. After a few steps he stopped to look back and found her watching him. He silently brought his right hand to his heart, to his lips and then to his temple, afterwards making a fist and laying it on his left shoulder, bowing his head. 'My heart, my voice and my mind are yours to command, Sarah. Always.'  
  
Sarah held her breath as she silently returned the gesture the same way she had yesterday. With her right hand, she touched her temple, her lips and her chest and then shyly, silently, held the hand out towards him. 'Even though you hurt me, Harmon, I forgive you, as my mind, my voice and my heart will always be yours to possess.'  
  
He cast her a silent smile and, to his relief, found her smiling in return, a little unsure, but smiling all the same. As he turned and walked away, Sarah let out a sigh, clueless as to how she should feel.  
  
They spent the night on a small clearing that was situated a good deal away from the path they had been following through the woods. Per a silent agreement, personal issues weren't brought up anymore, and Aine, Clayton and Father Chegwidden noted, relieved, that a little of the earlier tension had dissipated. Harmon and Sarah even smiled when they exchanged a shy "Good night."  
  
Early the next morning, they set off again, still heading eastward, until around three o'clock in the afternoon when they reached the coast. There was no sign of Palmer's army. Aine pointed out that she might have overheard that their main camp might be situated about five miles south from where they were. They decided to split up in order to gather more information. Father Chegwidden would try to get in touch with any clergyman that might be traveling with Palmer's troops. Harmon and Sarah were to ride to the shore, trying to find out where the king's ships could land and what defenses Palmer had set up against them. Clayton and Aine would try to gather information on the numbers and weapons of Palmer's army. They would meet again at nightfall when Harmon and Clayton would embark on a fishing boat they had hired in order to reach King Edward's army at the Welsh land's end in the shelter of the darkness.  
  
Harmon and Sarah were walking along the beach, side by side, careful to maintain a proper distance from each other. Their horses were trudging behind them as the friar and the sister with a huge sack went from one fisherman's house to another, collecting alms. People would eye them suspiciously at first, but as their garments were authentic and both, being educated, played their roles very well, they'd eventually believe them and even answer their cautious and seemingly casual questions about the ongoing preparations.  
  
It seemed that Palmer had all possible landing spots thoroughly covered with 'welcoming parties'. Harmon's worry was steadily increasing about what to tell the king where to direct his ships. "If we don't come up with a solution to this problem, I wouldn't know how to get the royal troops safely to your rescue, milady," he told Sarah with a sigh and a frown when they had left yet another house with the information of yet another small bay already equipped with Palmer's personnel.  
  
"Maybe we should ask differently. They might know of a way to land on the shore that we didn't think of," she suggested, not really convinced.  
  
He smiled slightly. "Maybe we should just pray."  
  
Once again she found his smile contagious. "That could work. But I vote the first option." She smiled back mischievously. Slowly, very slowly they were becoming comfortable with each other again. And though none of them alluded to it, both were well aware of the gradual change and felt more relieved than they would admit.  
  
They had arrived at the doorstep of a house that stood a little deserted. Their knocks were instantly answered by a smirking redhead in his early forties, Sarah estimated.  
  
"Come on in," he greeted them conspiratorially, grinning, "We've been expecting you."  
  
Sarah and Harmon exchanged a puzzled glance, but nevertheless followed the man inside. He had them sit down and offered them a cup of cold milk. "I'm Bryan Robinson. You know, my brother John is the priest of the local church and he just dropped by, telling me that a Father Chegwidden had come to see him. He instantly recognized him as an enemy to this bastard Palmer and hinted that our family's been sabotaging Palmer's people whenever they get an opportunity. I know those are all little things, but seeing one of them upset always makes me feel fine. So I keep doing it. And imagine how we feel, now that we have the opportunity to really get back to him for good by helping you!" Robinson was excitedly pacing up and down in front of the table where Harmon and Sarah were seated.  
  
Another quick smile passed between the visitors. "Then you might be aware where our main problem lies," Harmon ventured carefully, trying not to give away too much but on the other hand hoping they had indeed found an ally.  
  
"I don't know for sure, but I guess you're trying to find a way to get your people over here safely," Robinson said, still grinning excitedly. "I tell you something, sir. If I understood correctly what Father Chegwidden told my brother, you and your friend will cross over tonight. Tell the king to bring forth his troops by nightfall tomorrow. They must head a little northwest. If they stay on a straight course set between the Pleiades and the W of Cassiopeia, they reach a part of the coast where Palmer doesn't expect them to land. There are too many cliffs and underwater rocks and currents to do it safely, if," he smirked, "You don't know where to go. I do, though. I'll meet them with my boat about half a mile from the coast and will guide the ships to a rather large bay that would be ideal to land in. Only no one does because they can't get past the cliffs. But I can. And Palmer doesn't know that!" Robinson was enjoying this immensely, Sarah and Harmon could tell.  
  
Smiling slightly, Harmon stood and shook the fisherman's hand. "I thank you immensely, Mr. Robinson. You probably just saved your people." Then, sobering and straightening, his glance suddenly displaying a burden of duty and responsibility that Sarah had never yet detected in his eyes, Harmon added something neither Robinson nor Sarah would have expected. "In the name of all Leinster, I thank you for your service. Be assured that you will be rewarded once law and order are restored to the lands."  
  
"Oh my God..." Robinson muttered, instantly getting down on one knee and bowing his head. "I am honored by your trust, milord. I solemnly swear I shan't betray it."  
  
"I know you won't. Meet our fleet tomorrow night then, half a mile from the coast, and be sure to signal to them. But with the navigation instructions you supplied you should be able to meet them. God bless you, Robinson." With that, Harmon gathered the sack, silently motioned for Sarah to follow him and left the humble abode.  
  
Sarah needed several minutes to recover from her shock. So that was what Harmon had been enigmatically referring to when he had mentioned their 'secret weapon'. Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance was none less than the rightful heir of the Leinster lands! Utterly confused, Sarah stepped up in front of him and sank into a deep curtsy before her sovereign. "Milord..." was all she could say.  
  
"Please rise, we aren't at the royal court right now," Harmon replied, a little embarrassed. "Lady Sarah, I feel I need to apologize for not confiding in you earlier," he immediately went on, fear rising that she would only back away further from him now. "But Sir Clayton and I first wanted to make sure whom we could trust. You two and Robinson are the only ones who know, now. To be honest, until about four months ago, I didn't know either that the task would fall on me. But one day a royal messenger showed up at Penzance castle, ordering me to follow him to London. There I was shown documents that prove that my Irish mother was in fact the daughter of one of William Marshall's five great-great-great-grandchildren who lived to grow up. It seems she was an illegitimate child and her mother sent her to live with a foster family in England. None of the remaining Marshalls lived through the troubles. So here I am..." He smiled a little helplessly, obviously unsure what to think of his position.  
  
Sarah sensed that Harmon was in desperate need of all the support he could possibly get for his new position. So, rising, she looked up at him with a gentle smile. "Milord, I know I can speak for my entire family that we would be honored and willing to continue the long tradition of advising and counseling that has always been the basis for the bond between the Marshalls and the O'Haras, who faithfully served them for centuries. Be assured of our unlimited loyalty and assistance."  
  
She started when he took her hands in his. "You can't be aware just how much I appreciate your offer. I gladly accept. But," he swallowed, averted his eyes for a moment as if he couldn't bear her glance on him, but then forced them back again to meet hers, his expression unreadable. "What I need most to keep me going, to help me succeed in the enormous tasks that lie before me, is a loyal hand and heart at my side. Someone to support me when all threatens to overwhelm me, to give me strength when I falter, and to be my shelter when I need a place to rest. Someone to comfort me when things get rough and, most of all, someone who makes all this worth taking and enduring, in the knowledge that I do it for her and for our children. Sarah, would you do me the immense honor of taking that very place at my side?" Harmon again swallowed heavily and desperately searched her eyes for a hint at how she would answer.  
  
Conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm her. 'Yesterday he betrayed your trust,' Sarah thought, her heart racing. 'But he apologized and swore to prove himself worthy of it.' She had no idea why, but against her better judgment, she was again ready to trust him. Somehow she was sure he had been honest when he confessed he did not fully know how to act on those new feelings. This would place the two of them in a similar situation. And this being the case, she came to understand what had led him to push her away the day before. Maybe together they could face their emotions, one being the rock for the other to lean on. Her voice told of rising tears when she finally answered. "I don't think it will always be easy but if you are willing to take me as I am, I gladly consent, milord."  
  
"My Sarah..." he whispered in awe, slowly closing the distance and meeting her lips in a feather-light kiss. "Once I get back, I will speak with your uncle," he promised when he broke the contact.  
  
"I will pray for your safe return, Harmon," was all she said, looking up to him, love shining in her eyes that was fully mirrored in his. Silently they set off for the meeting point.  
  
They didn't give the slightest sign of what had happened when they met with their friends. A quick exchange of information made it clear that obviously Palmer had far less men awaiting the royal fleet than they would have thought. Somehow this information was unnerving. Something was up. Still, Clayton was enormously relieved when Harmon told the group of the arrangements that had been made for the landing of the royal ships.  
  
When darkness had finally set in, they went over to the shore and met with the fishermen that were hired to take the knights to the Welsh coast. Father Chegwidden spoke a quick blessing, took their horses' reins and left them alone.  
  
"Promise me to be careful, Miss O'Meara," Clayton heard himself say with far too much concern for his liking. "We need your services with Lady Lauren," he added gruffly, not really succeeding in covering his former display of emotions.  
  
"I promise," Aine simply replied with a sincere smile.  
  
"God bless you, Harmon," Sarah said quietly.  
  
"And you, Sarah."  
  
The two knights stepped onto the small boat that would take them to the larger ship anchored at sea. As the boat was being pushed into the waves, Harmon turned and, with a smile, brought his right hand to his heart, his lips and his temple, afterwards bowing with his fist on his left shoulder.  
  
As Aine and Clayton watched Sarah smile back, her right hand touching her temple, her lips and her chest and subsequently holding her hand out towards him, they instantly decided that they didn't really need to know the deeper meaning of the gestures.  
  
Aine and Sarah were watching in silence as the little boat disappeared, lost in thoughts until suddenly they became aware of Father Chegwidden rushing up to them, a frightening pallor on his face.  
  
"What is it, father?" Sarah asked, concerned.  
  
The priest very earnestly looked at them. "Ladies, we have no home to return to. Baron O'Hara's castle is right now under siege by the larger part of Lord Palmer's army."  
  
  
  
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!) 


	4. Chapter Four

'Once upon a time on a green, green island' - Part Four Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
  
  
  
From part three:  
  
The two knights stepped onto the small boat that would take them to the larger ship anchored at sea. As the boat was being pushed into the waves, Harmon turned and, with a smile, brought his right hand to his heart, his lips and his temple, afterwards bowing with his fist on his left shoulder.  
  
As Aine and Clayton watched Sarah smile back, her right hand touching her temple, her lips and her chest and subsequently holding her hand out towards him, they instantly decided that they didn't really need to know the deeper meaning of the gestures.  
  
Aine and Sarah were watching in silence as the little boat disappeared, lost in thoughts until suddenly they became aware of Father Chegwidden rushing up to them, a frightening pallor on his face.  
  
"What is it, father?" Sarah asked, concerned.  
  
The priest very earnestly looked at them. "Ladies, we have no home to return to. Baron O'Hara's castle is right now under siege by the larger part of Lord Palmer's army."  
  
  
  
Part Four: (The fairy tale continues...)  
  
The threesome rode day and night until their horses nearly collapsed under them. It was a lucky circumstance that they had Harmon and Clayton's horses with them. They could at least relieve the animals from carrying their weight from time to time. On the following day, as the sun began to sink, they were nearing the O'Hara castle. Carefully they left the path and entered the dark woodland on the hills overlooking the river Barrow. When they found a small clearing with a well between two steep slopes, they finally decided to rest.  
  
Father Chegwidden immediately attended to the horses, wiping their backs with dried leaves as he had no straws. Aine built a little fire and began preparing a meal, thankful for the many alms Harmon and Sarah had collected in the intent of passing them on to Father Chegwidden's monastery. Now, the situation being as it was, they might turn out to be vital to their survival.  
  
Sarah climbed up the slope and searched for a viewing point to get a clear picture of the situation. When she had reached the top she luckily found it devoid of trees and providing a decent overview of the valley and all activities in it.  
  
The first thing she understood was that the siege ring was impenetrable, from the outside as well as from inside the castle. Palmer must have brought at least five hundred men with him. And his army was very heavily armed. They had three catapults and a lot of ammunition for them.  
  
The second revelation that hit her was that the situation inside the castle must slowly become desperate. All the wells were outside the siege ring. She had no idea how much water was stored inside the castle walls. What if they ran short?  
  
But there was nothing to be done. Surrender was not an option, she knew and supported that. All of her family, and most of their faithful servants as well, would rather die than turn their home over to a tyrant. There was little activity to be seen in the soldiers' camps. It seemed that Palmer was content to sit and wait until Baron Matthew was forced to crawl on his hands and knees. Sarah prayed that her people would last until Harmon and Clayton brought back the royal army. At least she knew that word of the siege would have spread throughout the land by the time they arrived.  
  
Sighing deeply and consumed with worry, Sarah turned to make her way back down the slope. Just before sitting down in order to safely slide down the hill instead of taking the risk of falling, she stepped onto something hard and sharp with her bare foot. Looking down in the quickly fading daylight, she became aware of a square stone slab that was half hidden by the high herbs. Silently swearing, she examined her foot that luckily did not show any injuries and resolved to return to the spot the next day when there would be more light to examine what exactly she had stepped upon.  
  
In the meantime Aine had prepared their supper and she, Sarah and Father Chegwidden tried to make themselves comfortable around the fire that they kept low to avoid being seen. "So what did you find out, Sarah?" Aine asked.  
  
Sarah told them what she had seen. "I am really worried about their water supplies," she added, her voice strained. "If only we could find a way to get to them without being noticed. Then we could lead Palmer on until the royal troops arrive!"  
  
"Do you know your bible, Sarah?" Father Chegwidden asked calmly.  
  
"Of course I do, father. Where are you headed with this question if I may ask?"  
  
"The siege of Jerusalem." He said no more than that.  
  
After a few minutes, Aine understood what he was suggesting. "They had a hidden well! That's why they could not take the city until they found out! But..." she sobered. "We do not have one. So where is the point thinking about it?"  
  
"True," Father Chegwidden acknowledged, sighing. "But I know there used to be some hidden entrance to the dungeons, far away from the castle. Only that it has been three generations now that anybody knew of its location. But if we were to find it..."  
  
"...we could supply them with everything they need," Sarah took up his speech. And suddenly she had a suspicion. "I think our constant prayers may have worked a miracle," she continued excitedly. "Up on the hill I came across something that, in hindsight, might indeed be some sort of an entrance to something! Sure, we are quite a bit away from the castle, but that's the point about hiding the entrance to a secret passage, isn't it?"  
  
For the first time in her life, Sarah detected something like happy excitement on the friar's face. "My goodness, Sarah, that must have been real guidance from above! I suggest we go to sleep now and check it out early tomorrow morning." The ladies heartily agreed.  
  
As she settled down to sleep, Sarah finally allowed her thoughts to wander. 'I hope you are safe, Harmon,' she inwardly sighed, longing to see him, to feel his presence, to have his kind eyes scrutinize her expression like they often did. 'When this is over I shall never again leave your side,' she silently vowed. 'My mind, my voice and my heart...' were her final thoughts when she drifted off to sleep.  
  
In the shelter of a dark, moonless night, a dozen ships, each carrying about a hundred trained soldiers, were silently crossing the Irish Sea. Harmon and Clayton stood at the bowsprit of King Edward's flagship, closely observing their pilot's instructions and passing them on to the helmsman. Ever since they had met with Robinson, Harmon had been sick with worry for his love. Having heard of the siege, he - and Clayton, too, albeit secretly - had been praying that the ladies and the priest had gotten home safely and had managed to stay outside the castle.  
  
Harmon's whole demeanor had changed with the arrival of the news. Normally, he was known by his men as a fearless warrior with an incredible readiness of mind and coolness of temper. He would be the one man never to lose his head in a desperate situation. But now, he was pacing up and down with an ashen face, fidgeting with his hands and over and over checking the hourglass. It wasn't long until rumors were spreading that a woman might be involved. Had the situation not been so deadly earnest, Harmon would have met with quite a few smirking faces.  
  
Hearing footsteps behind them, Harmon and Clayton turned to find their king standing before them. They instantly bowed. "Sire..."  
  
"Rise, my friends." King Edward kindly smiled at his young knights. "How much further?"  
  
"Approximately a hundred yards until we can bring down the tenders, sire," Clayton answered, motioning for the sailor on signaling duty.  
  
"Proceed. Umm... Sir Harmon?" he turned to the tall, dark-haired man he had come to like very much during the last few years that Harmon had been serving in his army.  
  
"Sire?"  
  
The king took a few steps away from the bowsprit. Harmon followed immediately as was expected of him. "You puzzle me, Sir Harmon," the king began.  
  
"How so, sire?" Harmon's glance was suddenly guarded.  
  
"I've never seen you in a state of mind as this," the king went on, eyeing him thoroughly.  
  
"I apologize, sire. I shall focus on the mission."  
  
King Edward smiled knowingly. "What is your mission, Sir Harmon?"  
  
Harmon warily pondered his reply. 'Sarah!' was the first thing that came to his mind. "Leinster, Your Majesty," he said instead.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Umm... I..." Harmon was at a loss what to answer. He desperately sought for words but didn't come up with anything that made sense. The king spared him an answer, though.  
  
"I was wondering what could be the reason for your odd behavior, Sir Harmon. I was lost as to the cause until I realized it did not start until we met with the pilot. So, seeing that Mr. Robinson chose to stay on this ship and let his brother do the piloting, I asked if he knew something. I guess I have a clue now."  
  
Harmon gulped, still not knowing what to say but dreading the outcome of the situation. The king would surely consider him unfit for command if he were this easily shaken. He jumped when he heard the king go on.  
  
"As you said, try to focus on the mission. But, generally speaking, you know my opinion of single men at your age. And the Lord of Leinster does need a wife. So she is Scottish, is she?" he asked.  
  
Harmon studied his feet, appreciating that in the darkness the king would not see him blush. Then, knowing he had to look at his sovereign when addressing him, he forced himself to meet his glance and nodded. "She is, sire."  
  
"Please, enlighten me a little about her, Sir Harmon. You know I need to approve your choice."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Harmon carefully weighed his choice of words. Now the matter was getting irreversibly serious. "She is a widow, sire, of Scottish and Irish blood. She has no living children, though. Her mother's family are the Barons O'Hara, trusted counselors of the Marshall family for centuries. Her father's family is the clan of Mackenzie. She grew up in Scotland and was married to Lord Christopher Ragle. I know he fought against your troops with Wallace, but I doubt one could deduce from that any adversity regarding the crown on Sarah's side."  
  
The last sentence came out in a worried rush. The king suppressed a smile at his knight's eagerness to defend the one he had come to love. 'I am curious to know the one woman that could produce an effect as this on his heart,' he thought. "I am sure you cannot, Sir Harmon," he tried to reassure the younger man. "And now I understand your behavior. I assume you would like to assemble a vanguard and head to Baron O'Hara's assistance on horseback rather than leading the army on foot?"  
  
Harmon cast his king a grateful smile and got down on one knee. "I am infinitely indebted to Your Majesty."  
  
King Edward now let his smile break through. "Rise, my faithful servant. Go and assemble your men."  
  
'My heart, my voice and my mind...' Harmon kept thinking as he rushed to speak with his most faithful friends.  
  
Dawn was crawling up the horizon when Sarah, Aine and Father Chegwidden started to carefully climb the slope. They had hidden their horses and belongings a little farther off in the thicket, just in case anyone came across the clearing. They had taken nothing but a small water barrel each, tied to their backs, in case they might indeed be able to get to the castle, and a single torch.  
  
When they reached the hilltop, the sun was rising and Sarah was able to look around and quickly find the stone slab she had stumbled over the previous night. It was large and heavy, but in three, they eventually managed to shove it away. Holding their breath, they gaped at a square black opening that went down vertically for about three yards. From there - as far as they could make out - a slightly descending passage opened up in the direction of the castle.  
  
Father Chegwidden looked at Aine who, being the shortest, would go in first. "Are you sure about this, Miss O'Meara?"  
  
"I am."  
  
"Then off you go." He took a firm hold on her arms as he helped her get down. Then, upon her nod, he let go of her and she dropped to the ground.  
  
"I am safe. Please, father, hand me the torch."  
  
He did so and climbed down himself, then stretching out his arms to help Sarah down. They entered the passageway, with Aine taking the lead, always critically observing the torch. Should it begin to flicker, they would have to get out or they might run short of oxygen.  
  
They walked for what seemed like ages, ever slightly descending, never changing direction. Luckily, whoever had built the passage, had been so careful as to cover its walls and ceiling with stones. So the centuries had done little damage to them. After, relying on Sarah's calculation, about two hours of silent walking, they excitedly looked at each other as they had indeed arrived in front of a heavy door, shaped exactly like the ones inside the O'Haras's castle. It struck Sarah as odd that a hidden passage would end to an ordinary door. But they would soon know where they would emerge.  
  
Pushing, they were amazed how much force they had to apply to make the door move. Hearing a cruel noise of heavy stone scraping on heavy stone, they finally managed to push it ajar - only to look into the horrified stare of Lady Mary O'Hara.  
  
"Sarah!" she exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, frozen in place.  
  
"Aunt Mary!" Sarah cried, relieved, running over to her and hugging her fiercely. Only now did she notice where they were: in the family's crypt, accessible only through a little door at the back of the altar in the castle's chapel. And the door to the passage from this side was covered with the memorial of none other than Patrick O'Hara, the first to bear the baron's title. It didn't surprise Sarah that he had obviously covered the entrance to the secret passage, living in times of trouble. Kind of ironic, though, to cover a door with one's very own grave...  
  
Mary O'Hara found solace in the absolute quiet of the family's crypt, especially in times of trouble like these. Now she stared at her niece, her steward's daughter and the friar as if they were ghosts haunting her piece of mind. "How? What? But... I thought..."  
  
"Milady, we found the secret passage everyone always suspected existed," Father Chegwidden explained calmly, his 'priest' tone instantly comforting the frightened woman. "We brought water."  
  
"Thank you, Lord!" Mary broke out, sinking to her knees and starting to sob with relief. Sarah instantly knelt down and comfortingly rocked her aunt in her embrace until she quieted.  
  
"We will be safer if we stay in the woods," said Aine. "Milady, I suggest we leave the water here for now, go back and tonight come back with further supplies for you. We will just leave them here and never come in. It's vital that no one suspects we're here. Would you..." she swallowed, "Would you give my love to my family, please?"  
  
Mary had by now somewhat regained her usual composure. "Of course, my dear. I will speak of you only to Matthew, your parents, Bud, Harriet and Chloe. No one else will know you're near. We shall find a way to gradually stock up our supplies so that no one really notices they don't diminish as fast as they should. Do you have news about the king's troops?"  
  
"If everything went well, Sir Harmon and Sir Clayton should be headed this way and back on Irish soil by now," Sarah explained. "It won't be long now that Palmer learns of their arrival. So be prepared. They might attack. You just have to stand your ground until the soldiers arrive. I think we'll have to hang on for three more days."  
  
"I understand. Now hurry, my dear, see that you get back into the safety of the woods," Mary gently shooed her off.  
  
Sarah kissed her aunt on the cheek, turned and, together with Aine and Father Chegwidden, disappeared into the dark tunnel. A moment later, the grave slab slowly moved until it fit into place.  
  
They returned twice to the castle, usually carrying water. The first time they had returned, they had been greeted by a happily crying Harriet, and half a dozen small barrels standing beside her. And she had brought clothes and shoes for Sarah and Aine. Each of the three visitors took back two barrels. The empty barrels were easy to carry, and three of the barrels were returned to the castle that morning, filled with water from the well near their hiding place.  
  
It was near noon when the threesome finally emerged from the passage, gladly taking deep breaths of fresh air. Father Chegwidden's expression was so comically relieved once he let out his first deep breath of woodland air, that a hearty laugh escaped Sarah's lips. The threesome didn't notice that four men were standing at the far end of the hilltop, half hidden by a couple of bushes that were growing on the spot, silently watching their every move.  
  
Harmon only took five additional men with him. The fewer they were the quicker they would get to the castle. They couldn't outnumber Palmer's army anyway, so a few truly reliable friends would be of more use than a small squadron of soldiers. Besides Clayton, Harmon had convinced four more knights to accompany him. They were their round table's companions Sir Magnus McDermott and Sir Tobias Cullum, and their two closest friends, Sir John "Jack" Keeter and Sir Sturgis Turner, probably the only black man to serve in the king's whole army. He had originally been a prisoner, brought home from a crusade to the Holy Land. But on the way back he had been so lucky as to save the king's life. So, the Moor had been released and had earned himself the king's and his knights' trust with his calm reasoning. When he, later on, decided to convert himself to be a Christian, an old knight, Sir Walter Turner, had gladly volunteered to be his godfather and had even passed his name on to him.  
  
The six men rode all day and night and half of the next day until Harmon and Clayton believed them to be near the O'Hara castle. They left the road and entered the woods.  
  
Harmon was by now half-dead with fear of what he would find once they arrived. He dreaded the moment but, on the other hand, he needed to know the exact situation. So he had insisted they leave the horses with Magnus and Tobias. The other four of them would go look for a viewing point. Jack had pointed out a hilltop not too far away and they had immediately set off.  
  
Upon reaching the top, they had stopped dead in their tracks, as on the far side of the little meadow that graced the hill, a cloaked figure suddenly seemed to emerge from the earth. Under his or her cloak the person seemed to carry something. Quietly motioning for his friends to stay behind the nearby bushes, Harmon observed as a second person appeared on stage, then a third, a rather short one.  
  
The three people seemed unaware they were being watched. Suddenly, totally unexpected to him, Harmon's ears caught something that he would never have expected to hear right now: the merry laugh of Lady Sarah Mackenzie. Forgetting all his caution over the tremendous relief to see her safe and free, Harmon rushed out of their hideout.  
  
"Sarah!"  
  
Sarah's heart skipped a beat. She spun around, gasped as she saw Harmon standing on the meadow, dropped her cloak and luggage and, not caring if anyone might find her behavior unbecoming a mourning noblewoman, rushed over to him and threw herself into his open arms.  
  
"Harmon..."  
  
"When I heard the news I thought I'd be too late..." he whispered.  
  
"And I was constantly praying that your landing plans would work..." she replied softly.  
  
He held her tight, overwhelmed to feel her so close. For several minutes they just stood there, holding onto each other, the other five tactfully waiting until they parted.  
  
"How far away is the army?" Sarah instantly asked.  
  
"They should be here in two days. How's the situation?" His kind eyes skimmed her face.  
  
"They ran short of water, but luckily I literally stumbled over the entrance to a long forgotten secret passage that leads to the castle's crypt. We've been supplying them ever since we found it. Nice of you to join us. Now you can give us a hand, and more importantly, you brought some unknown faces with you who can unobtrusively get solid supplies from the marketplace."  
  
Harmon motioned for his friends to come over as did Sarah. Clayton greeted them warmly, especially Aine, Harmon noted with a hidden smile. Then he introduced all of them to Sir John and Sir Sturgis. Together, they immediately went to join Magnus and Tobias and set up a joint camp between the two slopes. Magnus, John and Tobias took turns going to buy food, while the others would continuously walk up and down the passage supplying the castle. They took turns on night watches and sleeping hours as well. Harmon and Sarah by a general silent agreement always walked together, and no one would do anything but smile when they saw them sleeping, Harmon's arms protectively wrapped around his love.  
  
Keeping up a steady routine, they could do nothing but wait until the royal troops arrived. On the evening before the royal army was due, Harmon, stepping out of the passageway, detected movement in Palmer's camps. Obviously they were preparing for a night attack. And they were doing it fast, he judged after having watched them for several minutes. Still, all the preparations took place at the far side of the camp that was difficult to overlook from the castle.  
  
Looking at Sarah and seeing her nod slowly, they were well aware of the risk they were taking when they just put down the empty barrels they were carrying and reentered the passageway. They had to warn the castle's inhabitants. And they had to stand up at their side. They were Sarah's family - and probably Harmon's family-to-be. Running as fast as they could, the pair headed back towards the castle.  
  
The battle was about to begin.  
  
  
  
To be continued... (Feedback always appreciated!) 


	5. Chapter Five - Conclusion

'Once upon a time on a green, green island' - Conclusion Author: Daenar Disclaimer: See Part One  
  
  
  
From part four:  
  
Harmon motioned for his friends to come over as did Sarah. Clayton greeted them warmly, especially Aine, Harmon noted with a hidden smile. Then he introduced all of them to Sir John and Sir Sturgis. Together, they immediately went to join Magnus and Tobias and set up a joint camp between the two slopes. Then Magnus, John and Tobias would take turns to go and buy food, and all of the others would continuously walk up and down the passage in order to supply the castle. They took turns on night watches and sleeping hours as well. Harmon and Sarah by a general silent agreement always walked together, and no one would do anything but smile contently when they saw them sleeping, Harmon's arms protectively wrapped around his love.  
  
Keeping up a steady routine, they could do nothing but wait until the royal troops arrived. On the evening before the royal army was due, Harmon, stepping out of the passageway, detected movement in Palmer's camps. Obviously they were preparing for a night attack. And they were doing it fast, he judged after having watched them for several minutes. Still, all the preparations took place at the far side of the camp that was difficult to overlook from the castle.  
  
Looking at Sarah and seeing her nod slowly, they were well aware of the risk they were taking when they just put down the empty barrels they were carrying and reentered the passageway. They had to warn the castle's inhabitants. And they had to stand up at their side. They were Sarah's family - and probably Harmon's family-to-be. Running as fast as they could, the pair headed back towards the castle.  
  
The battle was about to begin.  
  
  
  
Part Five - Conclusion: (Although fairy tales never end...)  
  
Harmon knew that their presence would be disclosed now but they had no choice. Still, the others did not know how many of them were outside the castle. This fact was kind of a comfort to them as he and Sarah, after having run for nearly an hour and a half through the hidden passage, stormed upstairs, leaving startled servants staring after them and finally entering the great hall.  
  
"Set up your defenses!" Harmon shouted, panting, without so much as a greeting. "Palmer is preparing to attack!"  
  
A stifled cry from Chloe was quickly followed by Baron O'Hara's calm voice swiftly giving orders to everyone. He and Aine's father seemed to have prepared their defenses well because everyone at once hurried to their positions, none seeming lost or panicking.  
  
The dining hall was beginning to fill with women and children while the men hurried outside and manned the fortified walls. Boys and elder men were supplying them with bows and arrows and ammunition for the small catapults that had been erected on several crucial spots of the fortifications. A constant guard was placed in the high main tower. The baron was personally overseeing the preparations, assigning Harmon and Bud to command different parts of their defense action. Harmon was to take the side overlooking the Barrow, from where most of Palmer's activities could be expected. Bud was to cover the rear of the castle, making sure to prevent any surprise attack while everyone would be engaged in the fighting in front.  
  
Finally resolving that they had done everything in their power, Matthew stepped up to Harmon, sighing. "You know that we won't last long against those troops," he said quietly.  
  
Harmon openly returned his glance. "No, we won't," he acknowledged. "But we might just last long enough for the royal troops to arrive. We have to try." 'Or die trying,' he silently added. Matthew only nodded and absentmindedly patted Harmon's shoulder as he went away.  
  
Up from a window, Sarah had followed the exchange. It disturbed her immensely that she wasn't allowed to go down and take an active part in the castle's defense but women weren't supposed to. So she would just help keeping the children quiet and the women occupied, praying that Harmon and her family would be all right.  
  
As if he felt her gaze on him, Harmon glanced up and saw her standing at the window. Both starting at the very same moment, they silently exchanged their now familiar signals, causing each other to smile.  
  
'My heart, my voice and my mind...'  
  
'My mind, my voice and my heart...'  
  
It was then that the first flaming arrow buzzed through the night, falling harmlessly onto the court's dirt floor. Moments later, all hell broke loose.  
  
Aine had started worrying long since. It wasn't like Sarah and Harmon not to join them once they got back. Certainly, she was sure the two of them craved some time alone with each other. But they would never seek it in a situation as this. Finally, she couldn't stand the tension any more and started to climb up the slope. Clayton, instantly understanding what she was up to, followed her.  
  
"Oh my God..." was all he heard her say when he arrived on the hilltop. Looking over to the castle he knew they had no chance. Still, he longed to join Harmon inside the castle. He would not let his childhood friend die without having at least tried to save him.  
  
"Aine," he began, neither of the two noticing his lack of formalities, "Go and join the others. Tell Jack, Sturgis and Magnus to bring our swords and join me here. You go with Father Chegwidden and Tobias. Try to locate the king's troops and have them come to the rescue without resting for the night. They might even arrive at dawn if you make haste."  
  
Aine acknowledged with a nod and turned to climb down.  
  
"Aine..."  
  
She stopped and turned back to face him. "Sir?"  
  
Clayton had no clue why he was doing this but he felt he simply had to. Closing the distance, he cupped her face with his hands and placed a quick, but tender kiss on her lips. "Be safe."  
  
She swallowed, her usual self-confidence wavering for the first time. "You, too," she said in a low voice, holding his glance for a moment before hurrying to execute his orders.  
  
Sarah felt she was slowly going crazy. She had been observing every single move of the battle that by now had been raging for over six hours. Soon the sun would rise and she dreaded what she would see. Their men had fought bravely and stood their ground amazingly long, but slowly their defenses were crumbling. It wouldn't be long until Palmer's troops would have access to the castle.  
  
She had not been able to see Harmon for quite some time and she was craving to know what had become of him - be it good or bad news. The uncertainty was killing her. Just then, an uproar came from the far side of the castle. 'They got in,' Sarah thought, defeated, but not beaten. 'So be it. But they will see me fight before I die.'  
  
A moment later a group of eight men stormed into the great hall quickly forming a defense line in front of the deadly scared women and children, their swords drawn. Matthew, Bud, Harmon, Sturgis, Jack, Magnus, Clayton and Sean O'Meara had left their stations as soon as was clear that their defenses no longer held. At least they would try and defend their families now. Sarah was immensely relieved to find Harmon alive and seemingly uninjured. Although she knew that in all likelihood neither of them would survive the next two hours, she felt an odd comfort that at least they would die together. Stepping over near to where he was, she tried to make her presence give him strength. Harmon acknowledged with a quick half-smile in her direction, grateful she was there.  
  
All became aware that the castle had grown deadly quiet by now. Many of the women and children held their breath, dread and panic distorting their faces that seemed frozen as they now detected footsteps of several men nearing the hall. The knights took a firm hold on their drawn swords. And then they saw him. Smiling viciously, Clark Palmer, self-declared Lord of Leinster, insufferably slowly walked up to them, coming to a halt eye to eye with Matthew.  
  
"So we meet again, O'Hara," he opened the conversation, still smiling, having motioned for his men to stand back. "Only this time I'll make sure it will be the last time we do." With that, he slapped him, his stare challenging the elder man.  
  
Matthew stepped forward, preparing for the fight. He was astonished that Palmer seemed to be up to playing the honorable knight by choosing a man-to- man swordfight. But, on the other hand, Matthew was well aware that Palmer was by far in a better state than he was. Matthew's chances for a victory were small.  
  
"You can have me, Palmer," he said calmly. "But leave my family and people in peace."  
  
'No, uncle!' Sarah wanted to scream. 'Surrender is not an option! You always told me that! Now stick to it!'  
  
"I have you anyway, O'Hara," Palmer retorted coldly. "I'll leave it to my men what they like to do with the ladies. Your men will be executed at noon. Now step forward, you old coward."  
  
Matthew took a few steps into the middle of the room, determined to at least end his life honorably, when someone suddenly spoke up loud and clear.  
  
"Leave him alone, Palmer!"  
  
The aggressor spun around to see a tall man unknown to him slowly walk in his direction, sword drawn. He snorted. "So he's too weak even to defend his own family?"  
  
Harmon came to a halt a few feet away from Palmer, facing him with a deadly calm stare. "No. He would defend them honorably. It's just that he isn't the enemy you're after."  
  
Everyone but Clayton and Sarah was staring at Harmon, wondering what he was implying.  
  
"I appreciate your help, Sir Harmon," Matthew cut in with a slight, sad smile, "But let us just get it over with. It is indeed me he came to seek out."  
  
Harmon flashed him back an odd excusing half-smile. "With all due respect, baron, I don't think so. Although our visitor does not know yet." Turning back to face Palmer, Harmon squared his shoulders. "Baron Palmer," he went on, noticing with satisfaction how the use and stress of his former title enraged the unlawful lord, "I stand up to claim my lands and rightful title that you unlawfully appropriated by extinguishing my family."  
  
Stifled gasps could be heard throughout the hall as Harmon's words sank in. Palmer narrowed his eyes on the tall nobleman. "Who the devil are you?" he asked sharply.  
  
"Sir Harmon Rabb of Penzance, grandson of Maude Isobel Marshall and rightful heir to the Leinster lands." With that, Harmon took off a ring that he had been wearing and tossed it over to Palmer who studied the coat of arms displayed on it. Visibly fighting to keep his rage in check, Palmer then glared at Harmon.  
  
"So be it, Marshall!" he spat. Matthew cleared the way as Harmon now took his place and prepared to accomplish what he had set off for from England.  
  
Slowly circling around each other, Harmon and Palmer waited for their opponent to attack. Suddenly Palmer made a lunge that Harmon parried and turned into a counterattack. Within no time their fight became deadly earnest, one lunge following the other, strike meeting strike, thrust answering thrust, one first chasing the other only to be chased in return. Their skills were matched, Palmer being more aggressive, but less guarded, too, which suited Harmon's calm demeanor of parrying the attacks and waiting for his chance.  
  
Sarah was watching the scene with growing horror. She couldn't bear to see him put his life on the line for the lives of all of them. And for the freedom of his lands. But she understood that he had to finish this alone. All of a sudden, she detected a subtle movement from the corner of her eye. One of Palmer's men kept slowly shifting his position, undoubtedly to get in Harmon's way. Sarah frantically began to contemplate a way to warn him. But it was already too late. Taking a jump backwards in order to escape one of Palmer's thrusts, Harmon tripped over the outstretched leg of the cheater and fell to his back, dropping his sword.  
  
Palmer was instantly hovering over him, his sword pointed to Harmon's throat, grinning evilly. "There goes the heir of Leinster," he commented dryly.  
  
This was Sarah's breaking point. With a cry of utmost rage she flung herself at Palmer, creating the two seconds of distraction that Harmon needed to get to his feet and grab his sword. Palmer spun around to get rid of his attacker, cruelly throwing her to the ground. A searing pain shot through her left arm as her wrist broke when she landed on it. But she ignored it, glad to have saved her knight's life, at least for the time being.  
  
Sarah had sort of opened the battle for general engagement and Palmer's men outnumbered the little group of knights. Harmon felt blood trickle into his right eye from a gash on his temple, blurring his vision. Swearing under his breath, he tried to focus on what his left eye saw. Slowly, the bravely fighting knights were being cornered by the aggressors. Everyone in the room knew that they were fighting a losing battle, as suddenly at least two dozens of other men stormed into the room, immediately taking the O'Haras' side. In a mere ten minutes, it was all over. King Edward had arrived just in time.  
  
While the royal fighters took control of the situation, Harmon and Palmer were still fighting their deadly duel. No one thought about interfering. As long as both swordsmen observed the code of honor, they had to face each other on their own. From the corner of his eye Palmer became aware that the king himself had entered the hall. This was the last time he was distracted. Harmon placed a quick lunge and disarmed and injured his opponent, the sudden pain causing Palmer to drop to the ground.  
  
Panting heavily, Harmon now pointed his own sword to Palmer's throat. Everyone was waiting for the final move but Harmon instead, with a quick movement of his head, motioned for two of the knights to come over and take the aggressor in custody.  
  
"You aren't even worth killing," Harmon hissed, staring into Palmer's face that showed nothing but fury, close to insanity. Harmon pulled back his sword and ran over to Sarah who had drawn herself up into a half sitting position, pressing her broken wrist to her chest, obviously hurting badly but smiling all the same.  
  
"Thank God..." she only sobbed.  
  
Harmon let her lean back into his embrace as he knelt down behind her. "Thanks to you, milady," he answered softly, gently stroking her hair. "From now on my life is entirely in your hands."  
  
Matthew cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Then I suggest you secure him, my niece," he ventured with a mischievous smirk and an uplifted eyebrow, "If Your Majesty consents, that is," he added, turning and bowing before King Edward.  
  
"I do," came the simple reply. "People, welcome your new sovereign, Lord Harmon Rabb of Penzance and Leinster, and his lady-to-be."  
  
Harmon gently supported Sarah as they both struggled to kneel before their king. Instead of telling them to get up, King Edward placed his hands on Sarah and Harmon's heads and started to look around. "Didn't I see a Franciscan friar somewhere?" he asked...  
  
  
  
Present time 1218 ZULU Mac's apartment Georgetown, D.C.  
  
  
  
Searing pain gradually made its way into Mac's conscious, finally causing her to wake up. To her utmost astonishment, she found herself on the floor next to her bed, her left arm numb if it weren't for the pain that generated from her oddly twisted wrist. 'Damn,' Mac thought. 'Only I could manage to fall out of bed and break my wrist by falling onto it.'  
  
Falling onto it... Instantly the events of her dream came back to her mind. If her arm hadn't hurt so much she would have laughed about the fact that she had been able to insert into her dream world even something as real as an injury. Silently swearing, she got up, cleaned up and dressed best as she could with only one hand and, having to skip breakfast, left her apartment to have her wrist examined at the nearby hospital before going to work. She would feel too ridiculous if she had to call to excuse herself for being late. 'I broke my wrist falling out of my bed...'  
  
  
  
1402 ZULU JAG Headquarters Falls Church, VA  
  
  
  
Luckily there wasn't a staff meeting today. As Mac waited for the elevator doors to open, she was very grateful that if she had to be injured in a dream, at least it was on a day with no morning appointments.  
  
As she exited the elevator Mac let her eyes exercise a quick sweep of the room, noting that everyone was busy and not looking up. Maybe she could avoid questions about her plaster cast for a little while... Her breath caught in her throat as she saw her partner standing at the far end of the bullpen, gaping at her with just the same incredulous expression that was right now mirrored on her own face. Mac closed her eyes, quickly shook her head and looked again. No, what she had first seen hadn't been an illusion. Harm had a gauze bandage attached to his right temple and was right now staring at her left arm.  
  
Then, still unnoticed by their coworkers, their gazes locked again across the room. Harm's face displayed an expression somewhere in between utmost surprise, disbelief, awe and fear as he, seemingly in slow motion, lifted his right hand first to his heart, then to his lips, then to his temple and, fist closed, finally to his left shoulder, inclining his head, never breaking the eye contact. And Mac saw his eyes nearly pop out of their holes as she, trembling violently, touched her temple, her lips and her heart and finally held her hand out to him, palm up. Time froze. They just stared, unable to comprehend what was happening.  
  
Tiner saved them as he noticed Mac standing at the elevator. "Attention on deck!"  
  
Mac instantly emerged from her daze, called a quick "Good morning. At ease!" into the room and quickly crossed the bullpen. "Commander Rabb! In my office!" she ordered, causing everyone to jump and wonder what the commander might have done this time to upset the colonel in such a way.  
  
Harm shook himself from his paralysis and instantly followed her into her office. She slammed the door shut and closed the blinds. Then the two of them just stood facing each other, much closer to one another than they would normally dare to stand, looking into each other's eyes with an expression of frightened wonder, unsure what to do or say.  
  
"Hurt much?" Harm finally asked, shyly indicating her plaster cast.  
  
"Uhm... no, not too much, thanks. You?" Mac nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  
  
"Nah... I fell out of bed, you know..." he let his voice trail off.  
  
"Me too."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Mac, I..."  
  
"Harm, I..."  
  
They had spoken simultaneously.  
  
"You first..."  
  
"You first..."  
  
Again.  
  
What the hell! Harm took a deep breath and closed the distance, gathering his Marine into a tight embrace and instantly feeling her body mold against his in silent agreement. Never daring to search eye contact, he mumbled: "What now?"  
  
"Dunno." Her voice was muffled by his uniform jacket.  
  
"Mac, what if..." He breathed to steady his racing heart, "What if we decided to... make our dream count?"  
  
Her grip on his left sleeve tightened slightly and he heard her stifle an audible gasp. She pulled back slightly and forced him to meet her glance. "Harm, are you sure about the consequences?"  
  
"I'm sure about you and me. If we manage to keep it quiet for a while we'll find a solution for the rest." His voice was just a little hoarse.  
  
Mac closed her eyes against the suddenly threatening tears, smiling. If anyone had told her this morning that this would be the glorious day that Harmon Rabb, Jr. let go of his fear and opened up to her she would have laughed in their face. His next words managed to completely crack her composure.  
  
"I love you, Lady Sarah," he said softly, brushing a shy kiss to her lips.  
  
Now her tears were flowing but she just let them. "I love you, too, milord."  
  
  
  
Same time Clayton Webb's office CIA Headquarters Langley, VA  
  
  
  
For the first time in decades Clayton Webb didn't dare to touch his morning coffee. His secretary had all but fainted when he had asked for a mug of chamomile infusion instead. Clay had woken in the morning, sweating profusely, his heart racing as if he had just crossed the finish line of a marathon. Then images of the strangest of dreams had begun haunting him, especially of a petite dark-haired woman with light-blue eyes that held a challenging sparkle, and with a few freckles on her nose.  
  
He knew he had never met someone who looked like her. Yet she hadn't been the blurred creation of a dream. Far from it. He had seen and memorized her features. He would recognize her anywhere. He shook his head. Maybe all this spook stuff was finally getting the better of him.  
  
The telephone stirred him up from his musings.  
  
"Webb."  
  
"Mr. Clayton Webb? Good morning, this is Aine O'Meara, Irish embassy, intelligence department. We fear we might have a situation concerning IRA involvement in possible attacks..."  
  
Her voice. Her name. Her. Clay didn't really understand what she was trying to tell him but he didn't mind.  
  
"Uhm... Miss O'Meara," he cut in, trying to sound calm. "I think we'd do better discussing the matter personally. Even secure phone lines occasionally grow ears. How about meeting at the Washington memorial in an hour?"  
  
"Okay..." She sounded a little surprised but didn't seem to mind. "How will I know you, Mr. Webb?"  
  
Clay smiled to himself. "Don't worry. I will know you."  
  
  
  
THE END 


End file.
